


In which this game gets some love

by Blackcat413



Category: Zone of the Enders Series
Genre: F/M, Grinding, I tried to keep him in character but this is ooc for him so, Overstimulation, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but blink and you’ll miss it, hey there’s only one bed, its one of these folks, shrug, this fandom is dead hmu if u read this, you don’t really need to have played the game to read this I’m just horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackcat413/pseuds/Blackcat413
Summary: You scooch a little to give him room, but not that much. You're too unwilling to leave the space you've warmed for yourself. He unceremoniously plops down beside you and draws up the covers, and you return to your previous position with minimal shuffling around.Only a few seconds pass before he says, "Why's your heart beating so fast?"





	In which this game gets some love

**Author's Note:**

> ugh I keep wanting to delete this but I can't for sentimental reasons.

So, there's only one bed.

Your only reaction is to shrug, although you aren't without your hidden feelings.

You both crash without complaint, tired enough not to care but not so dead as to fall into a deep sleep and forget about everything- as you realize right now, when you toss and turn enough to wake the both of you up.

You roll in your sleep, your leg catching on one of Vale's. Without opening your eyes, you groggily kick out in an attempt to free yourself, which causes him to grumble and wake.

"Hngh, sorry," you mumble in apology.

"S'fine," he slurs.

You open your bleary eyes to scoot into him even more, drawing the covers around you both. Rooting around with eyes still closed, he rests a forearm on your waist, probably to keep it out of the way as you squirm around in an effort to get comfortable. You consider apologizing once again, but he's probably too sleepy to care, so you let it be.

You nuzzle into his neck and throw a leg over his hip to curl it back around the other side of his body. You think, in your sleep-addled brain, about how intimate of a position this is, but you're too tired to do anything about it. You wonder why he hasn't pushed you off yet. The rustle of the comforter drowns out your contented sigh, but he can still feel it: goosebumps prickle on his skin where your lips meet his neck.

You almost drift back off, but you hear a rumble in his throat, and he inhales like he's about to speak. "Gotta get water," he says, and his voice is hoarse. You consider protesting or tightening your hold on him, but you let him slip away and disappear through the door.

You want to take his warm spot and fall back asleep, but the bed feels suddenly empty without him in it. In your mind's eye, you examine every movement that the two of you have made in the last few minutes, considering every detail in unnecessary excess. You stay awake until he gets back, which feels like forever, but in reality, only takes a couple of minutes. You grow increasingly more alert as time passes, anxiety getting the best of you; What if he decides he's uncomfortable and banishes you to the other side of the bed, leaving you alone and cold? You know you're being dramatic, but it's still worrisome.

The door opens while you fret. You take in all aspects of the room in the dark that you hadn't previously noticed: his hoodie on the chair casts a weird shadow, the light switch is farther away from the door than it should be; he looks unbearably good in that tank top. You can't make out his features too well in the dark, but you can see enough: his rumpled hair, the necklace that he never takes off, skewed to the side, and his expression, relaxed from sleep but eyes alert. Glimmering purple- you've always liked the color, but you can't see it without any light in the room.

He holds out the glass of water, not full. "Want some?"

Obediently you sit up and take it from him. You swish the glass once before drinking it in messy gulps, a few rivulets spilling down your chin and onto your shirt. Your own refreshed gasp startles you into wakefulness. You leave him a little, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you pass it back to him. He drinks the rest in much the same way, knocking back the glass and finishing it so quickly you don't even have time to take it in.

"Mmm." He sets the glass down with a clunk on the nightstand. You settle back down into bed.

He unceremoniously plops down beside you and draws up the covers. You scooch a little to give him room, but not that much; you're too unwilling to leave the space you've warmed for yourself. You both manage to return to your previous position with minimal shuffling around.

Only a few seconds pass before he says, "Why's your heart beating so fast?"

He must be able to feel it, so close to you. "The water woke me up," you try, unconvincingly. You nervously shift in place a little, your heel still resting on the back of his knee.

A rumble in his throat again. "Ah, I see." He sounds amused.

His forearm, which was previously just resting on your waist, slowly shifts so that his hand is splayed against your back. You resist the urge to arch against it, but your shoulder twitches. He must have felt the twitch, too, because he soothingly strokes your shoulder blade with his thumb.

"That feels good," you murmur into his neck, all but defeated.

"Yeah? Want me to keep going?" He doesn't wait for an answer, though, just keeps on petting your back through your shirt. You wish there wasn't a shirt there.

Right as that thought crosses your mind, he slips his hand underneath and strokes your bare skin. It's almost too sensitive, his proximity to your chest and stomach dizzying, but it feels good nonetheless. "You like this?" he whispers. That hypocrite— his heart's beating just as fast.

You probably could've kept on going like that forever until you fell asleep, but he withdraws his hand from under your shirt, leaving tingles in his wake. He forges on before you can complain. "You like me?"

Your heart stops beating, perhaps, but the continuous tingles silence your fear. You press a kiss to his neck, and then another, upon feeling the rush. You have to stop yourself from placing a third. "I think that's fairly obvious," you breathe.

He swallows. Without another word, he slowly shifts his hip so that his core is pressed into yours. The weight isn't intrusive, but it's heavy enough that you can't deny what he's asking. The only thing you can hear now is both of you breathing heavily.

"Good?" It's just a whisper, barely more than a puff of his breath.

"Yeah," you reply, unable to give him anything else. In return, he laces the fingers of his right hand with yours. Your heart leaps up into your mouth and you're grateful you don't have to speak.

He pushes again, and you feel it. It's far more insistent now, and the pleasure unfurls from where your bodies meet. The shock finally wearing off, you relax into him, biting your lip and closing your eyes. When you open them, he is staring at you with pupils blown wide. You kiss him. He eagerly accepts, like he's been waiting for this, and maybe he has. He tastes good, although you probably wouldn't have minded too much if he didn't. The mint from his toothpaste has almost-but not quite- worn off.

You have a nice angle, from where your leg is slung over his. You're grateful for it. He's completely hard; he might've been for a while before this and you just didn't notice before. Your stomach ripples at the thought, and the heat crashes over you in waves. You want to consume his body with yours, wreck him, let him wreck you. The air is so thick you can hardly breathe, but he chases your lips and you don't want to stop. He grips your hand hard, to anchor himself, and you let him because you need it too. Your fingers are slippery but your handlock is firm, and it won't break unless you want it to.

You bring your left hand around the back of his head to thread your fingers through his hair. With your right, you disentangle your fingers to ruck up his shirt. His muscles jump up reflexively against your palm, and satisfaction courses through you when you feel him shiver. He does the same to you, his nails scoring up the side of your body; you writhe a little under his hand, the touch halfway between ticklish and pleasurable but not at all unappreciated. He doesn't have much nail, but what he does have is enough to set you squirming beneath him.

In an effort to keep you still, he digs his fingers into your soft thigh. You meet his touch, pushing back against him. Having completely abandoned his exploration of your body, he opts in favor of keeping your thigh in a death grip. You almost want to hold his hand again, except it feels so delicious where his handprint is burning a mark into your skin.

You're scorching, every atom in your body screaming for release, and you and Vale rut up against each other as if the slant of each of your hips was made for the other alone. Your desperation, if it isn't evident enough already, is shown by the fact that you're pretty sure your slick has soaked through your underwear and into his clothes at this point. The thought only turns you on more. You can cum just like this, you know it, and he probably can too.

He mutters something unintelligible against your lips, and you reluctantly pull back a little to be able to hear him better. "Are you gonna be able to cum?" He asks, punctuating the question with another roll of his hips, and you almost lose focus on what he's saying. His breath is warm against your lips and you want to kiss him again. "Or do you need me to..."

You don't know what he's offering with that sentence, and as much as your body burns to find out, you probably wouldn't last long enough to see what it is.

"No, this is perfect," you squeeze out, and you know how you sound. You almost don't recognize your own voice, fraught with need and thickened by lust. He hums his assent and dips his head to be able to kiss your neck. It's almost enough right then and there.

His hand on your thigh tightens, and he gives a full-body shudder. His other arm loops behind your back and crushes him to you as he pants into your neck. The wave crests, ready to come crashing, the almighty heat bearing down on you as Vale cums, shaking. It feels good just to feel it rip through him, and rip through him it does. In another beat, you're gone as well, vision going black. His mouth finds yours, coaxing you through it, and you bite down on his lip and let out a strangled whine. You ride it out, pressed against him as tightly as possible, and he hisses from the overstimulation, but he doesn't stop you.

You come down together. He sucks a breath from between his teeth as you both relax—but not release—your hold on the other. Your heartbeats slow, your breathing returns to normal. You don't bother drawing the kicked-off covers back over yourselves. You fall asleep in each other's arms, and leave the cleaning up and the conversation for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Please go play or watch a walkthrough of ZoE: Fist of Mars if you haven’t yet
> 
> There’s an actual story and it’s good, don’t let my hormones make you think otherwise


End file.
